A/N 6/9/15: TWO real chapters in one go, with one of them being Player Two? That's unheard of! XD

The other day I had the misfortune of finding that TheBookNerd79 had plagiarized the prologue two years ago and used it in their story, "Our Worlds" and I only just found out. He/she has since taken the story down at my request. Oddly enough, I then felt it was high time I added something to this, short as it is. The rest of the chapters will probably be "short" as well, because I can only devote the stamina to one story at a time, and that's Player Two. If you haven't read that yet… GO READ IT! Ha ha. Anyway, hopefully shorter chapters mean I don't pull a Player Two and spend months without posting to it, but we'll see.

Now go read!

-Blurry

Chapter 1: Incompatible

Mechniks Corporation, Main Building, 300 Shining Road

East Side Station Square, Green Hill Zone, South Island

September 21st, 1975

"Alex, the doctor will see you now."

Ah, irony, the young man thought, one hand carrying the tray of steaming black coffee as the other fidgeted with his collar. As a child, he'd abhorred going to the doctor's—nothing to do for ages but ancient magazines to read if you weren't prepared, then having that cold stethoscope on his chest and being forced to lie down and just breathe. He wasn't dying last he checked, he felt fine, so why did they bother? Then he took a job here, at Mechniks, and fate would have it that his employer was also a doctor. A different sort, but still.

Ding. "Top floor. CEO's office," came the robotic elevator voice as the doors parted. Unlike all the other floors, this floor was almost open—one might as well be standing on the top of the building. Even now, the view still stunned him. Nothing less for the CEO of the greatest tech company of this century. One could see the entire city from here, as all the walls were made of glass—No, the Doctor's patented see-through Maria material, Alex corrected himself. Glass itself would be too fragile.

The office itself sat at the other end of the floor, "sealed off" with the same clear material so the boss could still see anyone approaching before he heard them. On rough days, the shades over these walls were closed. But today, as with most days, they were open, so Alex got a clear view of the strangest man he'd ever had the pleasure (or misfortune, take your pick) to meet.

He'd seen "large" people before—his own father had been one, always towering over his son even into adulthood. However, it wasn't the Doctor's height that was abnormal, but his shape. Fat did not come in "rolls" like it did for others—his was completely packed in evenly, making him almost spherical. Besides that, his arms and legs were as thin as rails, and his hands and feet were quite large—a lot like a Mobian, Alex would think amusedly from time to time. At forty-four, the Doctor's small round head was already nearly bald except for the veritable mahogany broom that grew out of his face. And then, there were those blue pince-nez glasses he always wore—indeed, neither Alex nor any of his colleagues had ever seen him without them —supposedly to help his ailing eyes after so many years of developing the technology for which he was so well known. However, there was a rumor going around that said he just wore them to scare people—he had a way of looking at you as if you were a machine, that he could see all of your inner workings, and if he found them unsatisfactory, he could dismantle you like that.

Of course, everyone here respected the Doctor greatly—he was named the top scientist and innovator of the year on numerous occasions and received countless accolades for his tremendous work in technology. The world had made great strides thanks to his contributions, and many techies dreamed of working under him. But even so, with his strange appearance, odd demeanors, and mysterious past, sometimes they couldn't resist and rumors would start up like wildfires.

Some were simple and silly, like "The Egghead" drinking engine oil as well as his daily coffee. Others were more complex—they said his grandfather had worked on a dangerous project for G.U.N., but his project had been shut down and both his grandfather and cousin Maria had somehow perished in the process. Were they true? The Doctor only smirked when asked, so Alex never knew the difference between truth and falsehood.

Only one thing they were fairly certain of—they said he was losing it. Ever since he'd started dabbling in Chaos Theory, he'd grown into the "mad" part of scientist, closing off the office even more than he used to. There was a lab on Christmas Island, they said, that was doing heavy research into Chaos Energy, and the Doctor had poured funds into it, talking to the hedgehog who headed it—a Nicholas Needlemouse—a few times a week, sometimes for hours on end when they found something noteworthy. That was what he was doing today, with the phone up to his ear. Outside the company, it was very hush-hush, but all of the employees knew.

It would never work, his colleagues had said in private. It didn't work twenty-four years ago, so why would it now? He's going slowly, but he's going, they said. To Alex, that seemed to be true enough. The signs were rather subtle—like the way his hand clutched the phone now ever so slightly too tight as he calmly took notes with his other hand—but they were there.

Alex stood patiently just outside the office, in view of the Doctor without being too intrusive, and waited. He watched as the older man nodded a few times and spoke in a seemingly calm demeanor, no matter what his shiny face said. After a few minutes, the Doctor hung up, appeared to sigh, and mopped his shiny forehead with a comically yellow handkerchief. Then he reached for a small black button on his desk. Upon pushing it, the wall closest to Alex parted.

"Come in, Kidd. No need to be shy."

Alex wasn't sure if the expression on Doctor Robotnik's face was meant to be a smirk or a smile, so he chanced a polite, "Good morning, Doctor," as he lowered the tray onto the table. Robotnik made an amused noise as he took the cup and drank, so Alex took it as a good sign.

"Do you know much about hedgehogs, Kidd?"

The question caught him by surprise—he nearly knocked over a cup of pens sitting on the desk—rarely did his employer speak to him other than to bade him enter, but when he did, it was always something odd, something Alex would likely spend the rest of the day pondering.

"N-No, sir."

Robotnik nodded again as he sipped at his hot drink. "Neither do I." He gave a short, dry laugh. "But my grandfather did."

Now this was interesting—Alex allowed intrigue to creep into his voice. "Did he, sir?"

"Oh, yes… He once told me, 'Ivo, my boy, never work with hedgehogs. They're difficult creatures, and you wouldn't have the patience for them.'" He drank again, finishing the cup and placing it back on the tray. "I haven't a clue what he was doing with them. He never told me. But I believe I understand him now—obstinate, the lot of them."

"I'll… I'll keep that in mind, sir."

Robotnik did not acknowledge the timid response, continuing mostly to himself. "But he noted they are quite compatible with Chaos Energy. Perhaps their obstinate nature is good for them that way—their will to live is astounding…"

You're babbling again, Doctor, Alex wanted to say, but only a slight frown flitted across his face as he took the empty cup and his leave, duty now completed.

But still, as Doctor Robotnik turned back to his work, Alex couldn't help but wonder.

What if he's really on to something?

Needlemouse Laboratories, Inc.

Christmas Island

"—I'll see what I can do, but I've already told you, there's no guarantees! Yes, all right. Good day, Doctor."

The tawny colored hedgehog hung up the phone, rested his forehead on his arms, and sighed.

"Rough morning already, Nick?"

The young scientist looked up to find his squirrel secretary—and close childhood friend —standing behind him, looking at him with a half-joking smile on her face, but the worry was still evident there.

"No worse than the others, I suppose."

"You're sure you want to be here today?"

"I'm fine, Ali, really." He tried to smile. "It's been five years."

"And eight years since the one before that." She touched his shoulder gently. "No one should have to go through this like you and Sonal have."

"She made me come. She marched me to the door, planted herself in the doorway, and told me, 'I scheduled a lesson today, so don't come back 'til four, you hear?'" He chuckled as he remembered the slightly amusing sight of his wife with her hands planted on the doorframe of their little house while he stood on their porch.

Alicia's mouth curled into a smile. "She's as stubborn as you are."

"You betcha."

She rolled her eyes and moved away from the desk. "All right, all right, I give up. But you're going home at four, and if I decide you need to go home before that, you're going home."

"Yes, mother."

She shook her head and began to walk out of the office, but she stopped in the doorway and glanced behind herself at her dear friend, the hedgehog she'd known for thirty years, since they were five years old.

"And for goodness' sake, don't act so tough, Nick."

He laughed, but she knew his heart wasn't in it.

Christmas Island's only cemetery was empty today besides a mocha-colored hedgehog, sitting cross-legged in front of two very small graves, marked with small white stones.

And she'd have given the world not to be here.

The sky was blue, pale azure, with a few clouds floating peacefully on the light breeze. Picturesque—perfect weather, as if to mock her for her own imperfection.

Her sister Aleena would be in the park today, having a picnic with her husband Jules while Maurice, Sonia, and Manic danced around them, enjoying the sunshine. Her sister-in-law Bernie and her husband Charles would be with them and her son, Olgilvie. They'd encouraged her to join them rather than spend the day alone. They'd had the best intentions, certainly. But she didn't think it would be good for the young children—aged six and two, respectively—to be alarmed if Auntie Sonal suddenly started bawling for a reason they had been told but did not understand. For how could they understand that they should have cousins, but did not, that their cousins couldn't come to play because they were stuck in the wretched ground?

She'd insisted that Nicholas go to work, and she'd even had a student come over for a lesson, the first time today in the past five years. All previous years she'd just sit at the piano and hack out Beethoven—he never had children of his own, but he had known torment, and so was better company than her family's empty, though well-intentioned words.

Footsteps marked another's approach—without having to say a word, he was here now, enveloping her with his arms, the only other person who truly knew her sorrow. Both pairs of eyes fixated themselves on the stones before them:

Nicky Needlemouse

December 15th, 1967

Anita Needlemouse

September 21st, 1970

Only a death date marked each of the stones, because how could they be called birthdays when she'd never had a chance to hold them alive?

"What kind of mother am I?" Sonal could hardly recognize the croak as her own voice as Nicholas rocked her back and forth.

"It's not your fault."

The doctors said it might be Nicholas's work with Chaos Energy as well, but she couldn't help but remember… Many years ago, soon after she'd met Nicholas at one of her college recitals, her parents had disapproved, saying they weren't meant to be. They eventually accepted him, but on December 15th and this day every year, the words came back to haunt her.

Incompatible.

She'd been brave all day, holding in the flood behind wobbly dark-gray eyes. But now it came unashamedly in the arms of her husband. He rested his forehead on hers, gently rocking them both as if they themselves were small children.

"Come what may, nothing will ever take you from me."

"Forever and always?"

"Forever and always."

A/N: And on that note, how was it? Worth the two year wait? Let me know!